I’m usually pretty funny and vulgar, but this time I’m going to be serious, sad, and even a little sappy. You don’t want me to be serious, sad, and sappy? Too bad mother fuckers, this is my blog, so deal with it!
I wrote this a few months ago while I was in the process of moving out of my apartment. This was the apartment that I’d shared with the Devil (back when he was incognito as an angel). I’m publishing this now because I just found out that he has a new girlfriend. This news should upset me greatly. I’ve been bracing myself to hear about “her” for months. A while ago, when I found out he had gotten a dog, I cried. Last weekend when I found out he had gotten a girlfriend, I felt oddly peaceful. Despite all the shit he did to me and put me through, I still adore him; I would still take a bullet for him. Yet, after hearing the news I amazingly feel… whole… again… finally. Moving out of the place we’d lived together was probably the best thing I could have done for myself. It was the last thing I had to do to rid my life of him. Even though he’ll always be a part of my past he will never be a part of my future, and that’s ok.
In some deranged sense, I haven’t wanted to let go, totally. Heartache is oddly comforting. I like the pain because it makes me feel like he is still a part of me. So my sadness, in a strange way, comes not from the knowledge of his new life but from my acceptance of it. I don’t want to cry or scream or miss him. But I wish I wanted to cry or scream or miss him. I’m getting over him. I’m over him. Yet, a part of me wishes I could find some tears to shed to prove our lost love story really was a tragedy.
So now, by letting go of these last thoughts and ramblings I am able to say goodbye one last time. Goodbye to someone who inspired me, comforted me, and cared for me. Goodbye to someone who I genuinely cherished and who made me so unbelievably proud. Goodbye to someone who is a million times more amazing than he will ever be able to comprehend. Goodbye to someone I believe in. Goodbye to someone I’ve forgiven, wholeheartedly.
It’s just, goodbye, and in this case it does mean forever.
September 2010
Dear You,
I’m moving. Not because I’m afraid that you will unexpectedly show up on my doorstep, but because I know you never will.
This shouldn’t sting as much as it does. This process shouldn’t matter. I should be over this (and you), but when you break a broken heart it takes an extra long time to heal.
I’m still living in the midst of our memories. I’m packing up “my” half of “our” stuff. (Do you know how hard packing is without your OCD?) Soon I’ll be gone too. I’ll walk out of the same door you used when you walked out of my life forever.
Months ago, I cleansed my life of you. I no longer have a single picture of you, all nostalgic songs have been deleted, all tangible memories have been destroyed. But you’re still everywhere.
You’re on the awesome turquoise wall that we loved so much. A year ago you were painting it, and as I watched you I thought to myself, ‘Someday I’ll be painting that wall back to the original colour… by myself.’ I will soon paint it but like you it will just be covered over. It will always be there, lurking beneath the surface, captured forever into history, never to resurface, impossible to be revived.
You are in the corner of the bedroom, where I sat on the phone screaming and crying and melting into what felt like death. I remained in that corner long after the call and the confession were over – is it really a confession if it’s forced? I just sat there, with this new knowledge that I knew nothing about you, and worse yet, that I would never get to know you.
You’re on the couch, which was the first purchase we made “together”. The last time we curled up and napped on that couch I woke up and told you that it was the last time I would ever be in your arms. You said I was silly and you wiped the tears out of my eyes. Now I’m the one that gets to claim, “I told you so!”
You’re in the piercing crossing guard’s whistle that irked you daily. You’re in the glass jar that didn’t break when I hysterically threw it at the wall. You’re standing in Times Square in every New York image. You’re the blue and white zipping around the ice. You’re in the heat that you despised and the windows that you forced open even in the midst of blizzards.
You’re in the air, and I can’t stop breathing you in.
I’m glad you’re gone. I don’t miss you. I am prettier, funnier, kinder, happier, and healthier without you; yet, I am plagued daily by thoughts of you. I hope you are finally living, but please stop haunting me.
Love – without question or hesitation,
Elly
